


Summer 1985

by Octobersxown



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, College, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octobersxown/pseuds/Octobersxown
Summary: Summer isn't long, get your kicks while you can.





	

Over the course of a long, scorching summer of waiting tables, you’d realized that people who could afford to tip well usually didn’t. There was no shortage of well-off people in Greenwich, with the exception of your family. The only reason you lived in such an area was thanks to a great-grandparent leaving it to your mother in her will. Both of your parents worked full-time jobs, and while you were home from college, you held down a job too to help out.

The restaurant you worked in was a short walk back to your home, and seeing as how it relatively safe and nothing ever happened there (nothing at ALL, in fact), it was welcomed time to yourself after a long day of dealing with ungrateful customers. The walk also served as a small respite between clocking out and the chaotic scene that was your household. Besides, in the unlikely event someone did try to mug you, they’d get a whopping total of 25 dollars and seventy-five cents.

It was 8:20 pm when you arrived home. Everyone was in for the night, including your little brother and sister, and that’s usually when madness ensued. As you jogged up the steps onto the porch, the front door swung open, quickly replaced by your little sister’s face.

Nicole, who insisted on being called Nicky, was 11 years old and had decided she wanted to be just like you when she grew up and hardly gave you a moment alone, much less any privacy. She shouted your name repeatedly as you entered the house and made a beeline for your bedroom after saying hello to your parents, who were watching The Cosby Show as they did every week, faithfully.

“Nicky, what is it?” you finally answered, glancing at where she was pointing on your desk.

“That funny-talking boy brought this for you!”

The “this” she referred to was a cassette tape, your name scribbled on the label. The tape invoked two very different emotions. Excitement and fear.

“Did mom or dad see him?” you asked, rushing over to grab the tape, although if they’d seen it already they might have mentioned the fact.

“No, he came by before they got here. What is it? I wanna hear–” she started as you took her by the shoulder and ushered her out the door.

Though your intentions weren’t to be rude, the quicker you got rid of her, the sooner you could see what was in store for you.

Harry. He was full of surprises. Him and his “funny-talking” family had blown into town seven months before from somewhere in England and were now occupying the old Douglas house, which was just two streets over from yours.

You and your two best friends, Chloe and Simone, met him when he was shoveling snow for the older people in the neighborhood, a gesture you’d reduced to nothing more than trying to impress girls. While your father was only in his 40s and in pretty good shape, he’d paid Harry to take care of your family’s driveway too. Thank God your dad was particularly lazy that day. Your mother insisted that you take him a thermos she filled with hot chocolate to keep him warm. Your parents were concerned with making new neighbors feel welcome.

Otherwise you might have never met him, the tall, slim boy who was incredibly British through and through, from his accent to the way he called french fries “chips” and potato chips “crisps”. He was extremely endearing and didn’t seem to know it, and was currently living out his 19th year of life in complete rebellion. His charm got him out of a lot of trouble, with some help from his lively green eyes and that dimple in his left cheek. That was where his innocence ended.

He wore his curly chestnut locks long, which automatically reminded any good, paranoid parent of rock singers who made bad influence music. His wardrobe didn’t consist of much more than tight jeans and t-shirts, some bearing crude language, others with band logos and show dates from the numerous concerts he attended throughout Europe.

He’d found trouble more than once in Greenwich, minor offenses but enough to prompt your father to warn you to stay away from him after the fact. It was almost like every movie you’d seen so far, the girl determined to be with the boy she couldn’t have, but you couldn’t resist him. And he really liked you too.

You were sorry you’d missed a chance to see him, getting out of your work clothes before popping the cassette tape into the stereo. There had been more than one conversation about each of your musical preferences and you were happy to learn that his were similar to yours, although there were some differences.

Plopping down heavily onto your bed, you sighed, appreciating your bedroom more now than ever. Being away from it during the semester sharing a cramped dorm with another girl at NYU made your bedroom a sanctuary of sorts. Posters of Michael Jackson, Prince, Depeche Mode, and The Police adorned your walls. Soft pink shag carpet covered the floor, something you’d wanted since you were 12 and finally got at 15. Your bed had never been as soft as it always was after work. What you really needed was a shower to wash the day off but you wanted to hear the mix first.

Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” started to play, bringing a smile to your face. You both loved that song, especially since it was playing on the radio during your first kiss with Harry, which had taken place in the backseat of his father’s car. Kissing his incredibly soft pink lips was totally worth the trouble you’d gotten into after arriving home almost an hour past curfew.

That was right before you went back to school from Spring Break in March. It was August now and you still got butterflies thinking about him. You debated giving him a call. It wasn’t too late and his parents were pretty cool. However, you’d already dealt with one incident of your brother Brandon listening in on your phone calls, in particular, a personal conversation with Chloe. Chances were, he’d do it again.

Figuring you were in for the night, you paused the tape in order to take a quick shower, pulling on an oversized concert tee afterward, the one you bought at a Tina Turner show. It was the only concert you’d ever been to, further proving how boring your life seemed to be. When would your “rebel phase” begin? You were 19 years old, an adult for all intents and purposes, for goodness sake.

Little did you know, it would start that night. As soon as you pressed play again, Raspberry Beret came through the speakers. Another one of your favorites. All of the best dance shows on television, like Soul Train and Dance Party were playing it, and you wished you could be among the dancers that were showcased every week. You desperately needed some fun after a long, work-filled summer.

You were two minutes into The Who’s Eminence Front when Brandon burst through the bedroom door.

“Hey ugly. Someone’s on the phone for you!” he shouted over the music, which wasn’t very loud in the first place.

You shot him a look and flung the nearest item at him, the Thriller cassette tape you’d ejected in order to play the mix. You hadn’t even heard anything ring, you’d been so lost in the song. Lowering the volume, you picked up the yellow phone that clashed with everything else in your room. Still, you loved it so you held onto it.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Wanna come sleep over tonight?” Simone’s voice came through the receiver. Any other night you might have jumped at the chance but god, were you tired. Moving was the last thing you wanted to do.

“I don’t know, girl. I’m tired, I worked two hours over,” you started to explain, just as you heard heavy breathing on the line. Brandon. You got up, going as far through the door frame as the phone’s cord would allow. “Hang up the phone!”

You heard giggling right before the line clicked. You usually only needed to yell at him once. Closing the door, you returned to your seat on the bed, welcoming the breeze coming through the open window.

“Brandon’s so cute,” Simone said, her tone clearly indicative of the fact that she was an only child and didn’t have siblings to tap dance on her nerves. “But seriously. I think you wanna come over tonight.”

You picked up on something in her tone. “Is there a particular reason I wanna come over?”

“Well there’s this guy who wants to take you to the movies. I told him you might like to go.”

“Why?” you started, scoffing when she laughed. You hated nothing more than being set up. Blind dates were a no-go. “What are you laughing about?”

“It’s Harry, genius! I’m supposed to tell you to meet him at the corner of your street and Magnolia at 9:30.”

“Oh. Really?” you asked, sure you could feel your heart beating in your throat. “What if I get caught? You know how my parents are.” Strict, to say the least. You could go to college in the city but when you were home, their rules still reigned.

“I got you covered if they ask any questions. My mom’s working tonight anyway. Live a little. How are your legs still closed with that beefcake walking around?”

“Classy, Simone.” You shot a glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 9:01. Could you throw together a decent outfit that quickly? And your hair. God. Didn’t men know that women needed time to prepare?

“I’m walking over to get you now. We’ll figure something out when you get back to my house.”

Simple Minds “Don’t You Forget About Me” was playing on the radio as you and Simone bustled around her room searching for something simple but cute. It took you back to the first time Harry invited you to the movies, specifically to see The Breakfast Club.

That had been months ago but you could still recall how awkward and adorable he was, especially when he used the oldest trick in the book to get his arm around you in the theater. The stretch and yawn. That was also the night you discovered the effect his touch had on you. He never pressured you, despite the fact that you wished he would.

 

******

9:29 pm. You’d just reached the corner of Magnolia, straight from Simone’s house when you saw him. He wasn’t in his father’s car, but driving a cherry red 1977 Camaro instead. You got in quickly, realizing there was no time for formalities. Your neighbors were nosy and you riding in a car with “that boy” wasn’t something that needed to get back to your parents.

Technically Harry wasn’t your boyfriend and even though past experiences brought about hesitation, you couldn’t but to think the only hindrance was neither of you making it official yet. He didn’t help by reaching over to grab your hand, kissing it softly as the car roared off into the night. It was silent for a while, aside from the summer wind rushing through the open windows and the soft rock playing on the radio.

As always, he was just beautiful. His band tee of choice this time was from the Bark at the Moon tour, the night Ozzy played the Apollo in Manchester. The sleeves had been cut, showing off his tattoos and toned arms. Harry could have had any girl in Connecticut, or on the East coast for that matter, in his passenger seat but you were grateful it was you.

“So, did you like it? Did I get it right?” he asked once the car was on the freeway headed south. You were so lost in admiring him that you hardly heard him, needing a moment before his question registered. The mixtape.

“Yes. Not a single bad song in the mix,” you told him with a smile, pleased to see one spread across his lips too. “Good job, Styles.”

“Great. It took ages to make,” he chuckled. “But it was a labor of love, you see.”

“Oh really?” you asked, trying not to read into his choice of words too much, but growing warm throughout your body all the same. You almost reached out to turn up the radio to drown out the sound of your heart thumping in your chest. “It was greatly appreciated.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze focused on the road until he spoke in that way of his. Slow and deliberate, seemingly always careful with what he chose to say. “Anytime, love.”

When was the last time any American boy called you love? Not ever.

You’d never go back.

“So. Obviously, a different chariot from the one I’m used to.” It was a beautiful car and he clearly took pride in its appearance. The leather appeared to be brand new.

“I wasn’t shoveling all that snow for nothin’. Or for free,” he said, winking at you. “There’s also the job I picked up for the summer.” A man with a plan. You could appreciate that. He’d need a car, since he was attending a university in Albany, two hours away. That was one thing you tried to forget. How far away he’d be during the semester.

Silence returned but it wasn’t awkward. You were comfortable with him, focused on the world you were flying past at speeds likely way over the speed limit. Greenwich shut down after about nine every night and the abandoned streets and shops almost made it seem as if the town belonged to you and Harry. It was a nice thought, especially since no one else existed when you were in his presence anyway.

The local movie theater was only 15 minutes away and he’d been driving for a little over 20. The latest showing usually started at ten. “I thought we were going to the movies,” you said, although you weren’t overly concerned with your destination. Being with him was enough.

He glanced at you, flashing an easy smile. “We are.”

“You sure?” you questioned, making him laugh.

“I never said in Connecticut.”

“Well. Okay,” you laughed, studying him. He seemed completely at ease, his long, lean body relaxed as he sat behind the wheel. In an effort to share some of that relaxation with you, he reached out for your hand with no intention of letting it go. The cool metal of the rings on his fingers brushed against your skin.

“Trust me. I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

You thought about it for a moment before squeezing his hand. “Maybe I want to go astray.”

His gaze landed on you, as if for some kind of confirmation. You’d go wherever he took you and now he knew it too.

******

 

Movies theaters seemed to be open all night in New York City. It was around midnight by the time the two of you emerged from the building, the one with the film titles on the marquee. Your parents would kill you if they’d known you were in New York City at night, outdoors, and with Harry no less. It wasn’t like it was the first time you’d ventured through the city after dark especially since you attended school there and weren’t exactly under curfew law then.

It was still over 80 degrees despite the time. You’d just spent the better part of the last two hours with your face buried in Harry’s chest. He insisted on seeing The Return of the Living Dead, which he’d already seen twice. He’d been far too amused watching the jumpy scenes scare the hell out of you.

“So, back home, then?” he asked, still holding onto your hand. He didn’t seem to want to let it go and the realization made you a little weak in the knees. Aside from a few other night owls prowling the sidewalk or buying tickets for late night showings, the two of you were practically alone. But you’d never felt safer.

“We don’t have to go yet. If I do get in trouble, I want it to be worth it,” you shrugged.

He laughed. “I suppose you’ve got a point.”

“I could go for food,” you mentioned on the slow walk back to his car. The look on his face would be etched in your mind for years to come. Was food really the way to a man’s heart?

“You are a woman after my soul.”

It was a quarter past one and neither of you were in any rush to take the 45-minute drive back to Greenwich. You’d just eaten the greasiest burger you’d ever had in your life (in a rather sketchy diner filled with some interesting characters) and it was the best thing to touch your lips in all your years, you were sure. Well, aside from Harry’s lips.

They were pressed against yours as you laid across the back seat of the Camaro. Thankfully, it was slightly bigger than the one in his dad’s car and the seats were pushed up for a bit more space. Although, you could have been lying on a bed of nails and it wouldn’t have mattered, as long as his body was on top of yours like it was then. Having him so close was making you throb in places you didn’t know you had. This certainly wasn’t the first time the two of you had gotten hot and heavy but you were fairly sure it would end differently this time.

His strong hands smoothly hitched your leg up around his waist, placing him between your thighs and right up against a place no man had been before. Not one. Not because you were against sex or anything remotely intimate, but because no one had ever quite made you feel the way Harry did. He made you feel the way Spandeau Ballet’s “True” did. He was always careful and patient, gentle and coaxing without pressuring you. He was there to guide in areas of inexperience for you, but it was clear, you were the one leading.

“You don’t have to stop,” you managed to get out between kisses before they halted altogether. His eyes searched yours, aided by the moonlight beaming through the rear window.

“We don’t have to take it any further than usual. Especially not in the back seat of a car,” he said carefully.

“I don’t care where it happens, I just want it to,” you told him, braver in that moment that you’d ever been in your life, running a finger along his perfect jawline. “Do you have a…”

He nodded. “As a precaution. I’ve always got one. I wasn’t expecting anything from you,” he assured you earnestly, and you knew he was telling the truth. Which only made you want it that much more.

Before long you’d tossed away your shirt, along with your inhibitions. There was obvious apprehension upon revealing intimate places of your body to him, but with penetrating gazes, soft kisses and perceptive touches, he made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. Jeans and shoes were scattered about the car as they were removed from your bodies, underwear soon following suit.

He touched you in places that awakened very new sensations. Harry was obviously concerned with both your pleasure and comfort, cleverly distracting you with a deep, sensual kiss when he finally made his move. While you expected pain, especially after hearing from so many friends in the past that it would undoubtedly be present, there was none. Only pressure. You moaned into his mouth, spreading your legs a bit wider, as far as the confined space allowed. He stroked into you with slow, fluid motion, the pleasure coming on all at once after the initial foreign feelings passed, causing your head to spin.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly against your ear. You could only nod and mutter a quick yes. It was clear he was taking it slow for your benefit; he knew what he was doing and wasn’t new to this. Pressing your forehead against his, you nodded before kissing his nose, giving him the green light.

“Oh my god, Harry,” you whimpered, nails digging into the center of his back. You let your head fall back onto the seat, feeling like you were floating. The sounds of Prince’s “The Beautiful Ones” playing quietly on the radio seemed to fade out, as well as the lights shining from nearby buildings. His mouth was warm and wet when it landed on you, along your collarbone and then pressing softly against your throat.

He remained consistent, properly responding to the signals your body was sending. He took it easy when it seemed to be too much, and worked a bit harder when it was obvious you wanted more. Perhaps you were one of the lucky ones. Every story you’d heard before about another girl losing her virginity were nothing short of horrors. That wasn’t the case for you. You could only will yourself not to get addicted.

But god, he was making it hard. You inhaled his scent, intoxicated. His skin was damp with sweat, as was yours, given it was a warm summer night but you didn’t want it to be over. Ever.

“You feel so good, love,” he muttered, his voice even deeper than usual, that raspy quality still intact as he spoke against your ear. It sent a shiver down your spine. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging gently on it as something started to stir deep within your belly.

It wasn’t necessarily an unfamiliar sensation, something you were capable of achieving on your own, and had, but it was much stronger and spread throughout your entire body. Your breaths were hitched now and you wanted… no, needed a little more, squeezing your thighs tighter against his hips.

It was all you could do to keep from scrambling from underneath him and far away when he slipped a hand between your bodies, his fingers gently brushing across a spot between your legs that caused them to shake. Judging from the way his movements were gradually slowing, he was going to a place and wanted to take you with him.

“Harry, I’m…” you started, squeezing your eyes closed when he applied a bit more pressure to that spot.

“I know. Let it go,” he coaxed gently, pressing a kiss against your throat before lowering them still. You were certain you saw stars when his mouth landed on your breast, just as what he’d been drawing out of you finally hit. It washed over your entire being like a wave and you were all too willing to drown.

You showered him in kisses to help him along, moaning when he tensed suddenly, knowing that same wave finally crashed into him, too. His weight was a bit heavier than before but you welcomed it, holding him tight as the two of you traded kisses here and there.

He took your hand again once you’d gotten back into your clothes and were off, beginning the journey back home. Was it safe to wiggle through the sunroof as the car traveled at breakneck speeds? Likely not. But that night was all about letting go.

******

 

The ride was over too soon, as you were parked just down the street from Simone’s house before you knew it. A slow, deep kiss prompted thoughts of doing it all over again but realistically, it was almost four in the morning and you needed to get inside.

“Don’t tempt me,” you giggled as he playfully bit your neck. “I have to go.”

“Fine,” he sighed, releasing his hold on you. “Are you okay?”

“For the fifth time, I’m fine, Harry.” You were downplaying how much it meant to you that he cared so much. “I promise you.”

He seemed satisfied and let you go reluctantly, pulling off only after you made it through Simone’s bedroom window. She opened one eye as you lowered it quietly, hoping her mother was asleep now. She’d gotten in from work, her car parked in the driveway. If luck was on your side, she’d be a heavy sleeper.

“How was your night?” Simone asked, her voice thick with sleep. You didn’t answer until you changed back into your concert tee and slid into bed beside her.

“It was… perfect,” you sighed, catching a glimpse of Simone’s Whitney Houston poster on the wall. You could all but hear “Saving All My Love For You” playing in your head. Whitney was onto something.

“Tell me all about it in the morning,” Simone yawned, already half-asleep again.

And tell her all about it, you would. In great detail.


End file.
